The Deadly Mine
by jtm1848
Summary: The continuing adventures of Spruce the Younger.


**The Deadly Mine**

For the second time in a tenday, Spruce found himself ready to charge in beneath ground.

It wasn't his fault; _not really, at least,_ or so he reckoned. His newfound status of "Guardian of Sandpoint" was not a title that he had aspired to, nor ever intended to pursue. It had just _happened _that way, a fluke of fate that had led Sandpoint's wily old mayor, Kendra Deverin, to task _him_, among the youngest and least of the town guard, to free a young child from the clutches of a goblin.

And in the process, he had slayed the Skeleton King, earning himself the magical blue-glowing longsword that he dubbed _Firesbane. _It was a magnificent weapon, imbued with an eerie coldness that absorbed the heat of anything it touched; it whistled through the air, perfectly balanced, perfectly weighted, perfectly designed for him.

And now, as Spruce found himself standing outside the man-high entrance of a natural cave, he held Firesbane in front of him, ready to confront the unknown.

_It seems, _he thought, recalling the prior day's conversation which had led him here, that a pair of dwarven brothers had arrived in Sandpoint less than a tenday previous. Strangers to the insular town, they had nonetheless came asking questions, questions about an old gold mine located in the hills outlying Sandpoint. It was an old mine, long since abandoned by a generation past, and so the dwarves had been told; but the surveyors thought that, maybe, they could stabilize the tunnels and reopen the passages for mining.

Three days ago, the dwarves departed Sandpoint, heading for the mine's head. No one had seen hide nor tail of them since.

It wasn't that the mayor was _concerned _so much about the welfare of the dwarves, Spruce recalled; it was the fear—shared by several townspeople—that the dwarven surveyors were trying to steal the gold right out from beneath Sandpoint's nose. Before Spruce had left town around a half past the morning bells, Sheriff Belor Hemlock had outright deputized him, empowering the young hero to arrest the surveyors.

_And so here I am_, Spruce thought as he stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the cavern entrance; one hand held Firesbane, the other gripping a lighted torch as the sunlight disappeared behind him. In moments, only the light of the torch shone in the passageway, illuminating the rough-hewn walls and supporting timberwork frame. He stepped carefully, testing his footing before placing his full weight down; his feet were in the twilight of the torch, and rusted rails skittered around the floor, waiting to trap an ankle or two.

The entrance tunnel extended directly ahead for a length of fifty or so feet before opening into a small cavern, this one formed as an intersection of sorts; from here, tunnels departed leading west, north, and east. More rusty rails crisscrossed the floor in this area, and as Spruce hunkered down to the dirt, dwarven bootprints became readily visible.

Unable to find a pattern in the mixed prints, Spruce looked back up, and a small patch to his left—the northwest corner of the room—caught his eye; whereas most of the wall was blackened from years of soot, situated roughly at the eye level of a dwarf was a pale section. Intrigued, he stood up, ignoring the crick in his left knee; and Spruce went closer to take a look.

_It's been chiseled, _Spruce identified immediately, looking closely at the paler section of stone; it was clear of soot, and sharp marks were scratched into the surface where the dwarves had chipped away with a mining pick. In the stone, Spruce could even make out a handful of faint, glittering speckles in the rock.

The other significant element to the room was to the right, in the northeast corner. The dirty ground appeared to be newly scorched. Carefully propping Firesbane against a clear portion of the wall, with the torch held aloft, Spruce squatted down to take a closer look.

Spruce frowned as he sifted through a thin layer of ash and blackened dirt with a gloved hand. _Something happened here, _he recognized, for in the dirty soot he found the burned carcass of a spider; and it was a large spider at that, nearly the breadth of his palm. And there was another, and another, and another; and all told, as Spruce cautiously dusted off the floor, were a dozen burned carcasses.

There was one other clue, and Spruce raised it to his eyes; broken glass, shaped approximately like the remnants of an alchemist's flask. Taking a chance, Spruce sniffed the shard, and caught a faint undertone of chemicals. _Alchemist's fire_, he guessed. _The dwarves must've firebombed the swarm of spiders._

There were three tunnels exiting the crossroads. _Which one first_?

On a whim, Spruce elected to explore the western tunnel, branching off to the left from the entrance tunnel. With Firesbane once again securely in hand, Spruce followed the battered rails down the length of the dark corridor, traveling about twenty feet before angling to the right. There were few bootprints on the ground beneath him, but there were some; the dwarves had passed this way.

Spruce stopped in his tracks. A giant sinkhole lay before him, filling the entire passageway. No more than ten feet from the ledge, Spruce followed the mine cart rails with his eyes as they plunged over the lip of the gapping opening, twisting and hanging into the roughened hole. _Did the dwarves cross here, or did they turn back_?

Spruce held his torch higher, trying to take stock of the situation. The light cast out firmly for about thirty feet, before slowly dying away, and as he inched closer, the far edge of the sinkhole came into clear sight. It was maybe fifteen feet across. Too far to jump.

Setting Firesbane against the wall, Spruce shifted the torch to his right hand as he knelt down near the lip, grasping the mangled rails with his left hand for support as he held the torch out over the pit. The floor slopped downward from the left to the right, starting around 10 feet deep and ending at a depth of roughly 15 feet.

Spruce leaned out further to examine the walls. They were relatively smooth, and would require an experienced climber—preferably one with rope—to make the descent and ascend on the far side. _Dwarves, _he knew, where generally no strangers to rock climbing.

Spruce pulled himself back and stayed squatting, debating his next move. The dwarves had definitely come this way—the bootprints indicated as much. Did they cross over the sinkhole and continue onward? Few signs existed to suggest that they had, but he was not an expert tracker.

_No, _Spruce decided. It would take some time for him to make his way across. It was time to check the other branching tunnels. If need be, he could return here.

Making his way back through the western tunnel, Spruce quickly arrived back at the central crossroads; and, with two tunnels remaining to explore and no clear indication favoring one or the other, he elected to take the center tunnel. Making its way to the north from the crossroads, it looked similar to the first; mined stone walls flanked on either side, with wooden support struts around him, bracing up the walls and ceiling.

The mine cart rails plowed their way forward with unyielding directness for some twenty feet before coming to an abrupt end. This tunnel, too, had suffered from the test of time; but whereas the first had incurred a large sinkhole, this tunnel had simply collapsed. The rails before him, stained black in the flickering light of his torch, were buried beneath a giant rock pile that reached to the ceiling. The support struts had given way.

Spruce frowned, and was ready to turn around and leave, but one detail caught his attention; a thin, gossamer sheet of webbing covered everything. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the rubble from the collapse were all covered by the delicate white web.

Recalling the spider carcasses in the crossroads, Spruce lifted his torch high and turned about, searching the chamber for clues of occupation; and there, in the far-right corner, was a crusty mass of hatched spider eggs. Buried within the gutted remains were the carcasses of several rabbits and one unlucky fox.

_So be it, _Spruce thought as he looked around carefully, holding the torch aloft. Firesbane, too, was held at the ready, as if expecting danger; for where there were spider _eggs_…

Spruce spun to his left as he fell to his knees, barely aware of the hulking blackness that flew over him, solidly thwacking him aside the head as it passed. _The mother spider!_ Spruce realized a moment later as his gyrating eyes returned to normal. He sprung to his feet, both hands gripping the hilt of his magical longsword as the torch rolled away, still lighting the chamber.

The mother spider was huge, its body easily the size of his! The beast stood before him, blocking the exit from the tunnel with its bulk; and it lurched at him, sending Spruce scurrying backwards until his heels hit the near edge of the rock slide.

_Steady yourself!_ Spruce swung the longsword about, cutting off the spider in the middle of its second bull rush; the arachnid fell back on its hairy back legs, untouched but seemingly surprised by the weapon flashing before it. Spruce saw his opportunity, the slim opening that the spider had given him; and still grasping Firesbane with both hands, he charged forward, slashing the weapon downward from right to left with all his might.

The spider scurried backward again, and Spruce realized that he was in trouble; Firesbane was out of place, its momentum carrying the weapon down and to the left. The spider lurched forward, its maw wide open, drops of poison trickling from its fangs. A single bite, Spruce knew, could be fatal.

Desperately, Spruce stumbled backwards. He could feel the vile breath of the spider as it bit hard, coming up inches short of his face; and off-balance, his sword in his left hand, Spruce brought the weapon forward. Slashing across the spider's face, it left a streak of ichor behind as the sharp blade sliced through the creature; and as the spider screamed with a death-curdling howl it froze and contracted, the very heat of its body absorbed by the icy cold of Firesbane.

The giant spider scrambled backwards, clearly enraged by the scent of its own ichor and the brain-stabbing pain of coldness, and it lunged again, its maw again wide open, ready to swallow Spruce up whole; but Spruce, in the momentary lapse, had regained his footing. With his feet firmly planted, and his sword firmly held, Spruce propelled the blade forward, stabbing it directly into the spider's mouth.

The spider fell limply to the floor. It the stabbing blow hadn't been fatal, the crippling cold was.

It took both hands for Spruce to pull Firesbane from the carcass of his newly-slain foe, and he looked at it with disgust; the faint-blue glow of the magical longsword was completely covered in the mottled innards of the spider, hanging and dripping from the weapon. He couldn't bare it; and removing one boot, he took off a thick sock to use as a rag.

His cleaning task roughly complete—upon returning to Sandpoint, he would need to properly scour the blade clear—Spruce conducted a thorough inspection of the dead end tunnel. There was little, he noted, to see, other than the ubiquitous dwarven bootprints. The surveyors, he reasoned, had tried coming this way; the litter of spiders must have chased the dwarves back to the main crossroads, but the mother spider had remained behind.

And so Spruce found himself, again, in the crossroads, with one tunnel left to explore; _it's this or nothing, _he reasoned, understanding that nothing to verify that the dwarves had not fled the mine entirely. The last tunnel branched out to the right of the main entry tunnel, punching its way east through the soft rock, and the torch's light revealed nothing but a sharp turn ahead.

_There! _As the tunnel angled left, deeper into the rock, there was a single huddle form laying on the ground. It was roughly the size of a dwarf! The being's head was pointed towards the tunnel's egress, as if it had been fleeing when struck down from behind.

Spruce skittered forward, taking care to not plunge headfirst around the curve, his eyes flitting between the tunnel itself and the supine form laying ahead; as he approached it, Spruce squatted to his knees. The torch he braced against the rock wall, and Firesbane was held awkwardly ready, in case the body was a trap.

With a gentle shove, Spruce rolled over the heap of clothing. He saw immediately that it was a dwarf; _or at least_, he figured, a convincing replica of one. Stout of body and thick of muscle, the dwarf was bruised and bloodied.

Spruce gently slapped the miner's face once, then twice, but the dwarf didn't stir; only thick, heavy breathing indicated that the dwarf was even alive. Spruce could see by the light of the torch that the miner had taken quite a beating, and even now was unconscious from his injuries.

Gritting his teeth, Spruce reached into the pocket of his own cloak with his free hand. He had a single potion of healing with him, and only one; but there was no way for him to carry the dead weight of a dwarf back to Sandpoint. He pulled the stopper from the bottle with his teeth, and taking a breath, Spruce slowly poured the orange liquid into the dwarf's mouth.

At first, nothing happened, and Spruce wondered if he had a dud; it took several long seconds before the miner groaned in a painful way and eyelids fluttered open, revealing spinning eyes inside. The miner coughed, then coughed again, before rolling onto his side, clearly trying to stabilize his vision.

"Who—" Spruce started to say, but the dwarf drilled him with a fierce look. Taking the hint, Spruce lowered his voice to a whisper. "Who are you?"

"Grald," the dwarf answered. He spat out a chunk of blood. "My name is Grald."

Spruce recognized the name—this was, indeed, one of the two dwarf brothers he had been sent to find. "Where's Durn?" he whispered, referring to the second surveyor. "Do you know where he is?"

Grald slowly shook his hairy head. "I don't know," he answered, pausing to cough again. "We went down the tunnel," he continued, gesturing with his head to the depths behind him. "We—we were attacked by a golden rock monster."

Spruce glanced up, as if expecting to see the monster barreling down the tunnel towards them.

Grald let his head fall backward in exhaustion. "We ran," he added, exhaling sharply. "I was ahead of Durn. I—didn't see what happened. Something hit me from behind…can you get us out of here?"

Spruce nodded as he followed the story. "How do you feel?" he asked when the dwarf fell silent. "Do you think you can walk?"

Grald's head bobbed forward. "I think so," he answered. The healing potion was working quickly. "I'm ready to get out of here."  
"Do you think you can fight?" Spruce pressed. "I could use the help. In case I have to fight this rock monster."

Grald grinned broadly, showing a smile of shattered teeth and bloodied gums. "I'm a miner, not a fighter," he responded. "Besides—I still have to get to my feet."

Spruce nodded. "I have to push forward," he whispered. He stood up, ignoring the crick in his left knee, and picked up the torch. "I'll stop by on my way back."

"Good, good," Grald replied, still groaning. "Try to save my brother."

Spruce didn't respond to the dwarf, but pressed forward, the torch held aloft in his left hand and Firesbane held ready in his right. The tunnel, having turned, continued forward for another forty feet or so. He stepped carefully along the mine cart rails, allowing himself plenty of time to search the walls before continuing. An earthen elemental could be hiding…just about anywhere.

Ahead, the rails came to a halt beneath a mass of loose rock that stood, piled, in the center of the corridor; the torchlight illuminated the ceiling above it, indicating that the tunnel continued onward past the rubble. It wasn't clear if the rock was from a cave-in, or was merely debris from digging the mine; what was clear, however, was another dwarven shape, laying face up in the passageway.

_Durn._

Something warned Spruce to hold his action.

Spruce's eyes darted around, looking for any irregularities in the rock ahead and surrounding him; any odd mass, any odd lump, that might indicate the presence of the earthen elemental.

_There! _The sound, more than the movement, caught Spruce's attention. The unmistakable sound of rock cracking and sliding across itself filled the chamber. Spruce smiled grimly as his eyes located the source; partially buried in a pile of gold ore was a misshapen lump that was slowly starting to move. Smaller stones crashed to the floor as the elemental straightened itself; it had to bend over to fit beneath the ceiling.

It was only a medium elemental, but that was bad enough; its size and mass made Spruce feel puny by comparison. The young man quickly reviewed what he knew of the creature; earthen elementals, he recalled, didn't need to eat, breath, or sleep, but they reveled in the sense of their patron ore. Content to stay buried unless disturbed, when angered, an earthen elemental could go on a brutal rampage.

How do you kill a giant rock with a longsword?

The elemental lumbered forward, swinging giant fists of stone ahead of it. Moving slowly, it gave Spruce a precious moment to set his feet and plan his attack; bringing Firesbane to a ready position, he swung the magical weapon with all his might, hoping to send the elemental stumbling backward.

The feint didn't work.

The longsword sliced the air immediately in front of the rock monster, missing by inches as it passed by; and Spruce, balanced lightly on his feet, jumped backwards as a thick column of rock swung at him like a giant fist. It howled with heavy fury, causing currents in the dead air.

Spruce brought Firesbane around on a backswing, and his entire body shook with the feedback of the collision, but he held his course as the magical longsword sliced clear through the wrist of the monster. The fist-shaped chunk of rock crashed to the ground, where it split in two, as if cleaved in half; and the elemental pulled its stumpy arm back, but gave no indication of pain.

Another arm-like appendage came slamming forward from the rock monster, and Spruce had no time to jump from the brute's path; it slammed into his chest, nearly flattening his rib cage before the force sent Spruce flying backwards to land, heavily, on his back, some fifteen feet back down the tunnel. Laying on the dirty ground, Spruce gasped for breath, uncertain if his lungs were still intact; pain flooded throughout his chest, and the young fighter knew that he had broken several ribs.

With the rock monster lurching its way down the corridor towards him, Spruce had scarce seconds to steady his spinning head; he stumbled to his feet, nearly falling back over as he rose. Using the longsword as a brace, he sought to stand straight, but the pain in his chest was too much; he hunched forward, barely able to keep his balance.

Desperately, Spruce swung his blade at the approaching elemental as it raised the stumpy arm for another slammining attack; thrusting the sword forward, he caught the rock monster beneath the misshapen lump of its head, the magical weapon piercing its way inward. If the monster could have howled, it would have; it stumbled backwards, ripping the sword's hilt from Spruce's grip as it took the blade with in.

Before Spruce's eyes, the elemental began to quake, growing more forceful with every beat, and with a sudden explosive burst, the rock monster shattered into dozens of rocks; the debris crashed to the floor in a pile of stony rubble, kicking up a cloud of dirt that slowly settled down atop the now-dead remnants of the rock monster.

Spruce let himself fall backward, still wheezing for air as he hit the ground. The corridor around him was growing faint, and he knew that he was in trouble; he choked, and coughed out a chunk of bloody mass. With only one option—one hope—left, he rolled onto his hands and knees, and crawled towards the corpse of Durn, swaying to the left and right as he crawled.

With stars spiraling before his eyes, Spruce reached the body of the second dwarf surveyor, and he ripped into the miner's pockets, searching for any magical elixir that could save him; tossing detritus heedlessly around him, his right hand closed on a glass vial.

What was it? Spruce's head swam as the dark clouds descended on him. There was little left to chance. He pulled the stopper from the vial, and as his head hit the floor, Spruce poured the contents down his throat.

He fell into an ocean of darkness, an ocean populated not with the fish and whales of the high seas, but with hideous, distorted memories of the earthen elemental, each one larger than the last; he screamed, but no sounds emerged as the rocky monsters stretched out their arms for him, dragging him deeper into the depths of darkness.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?"

Grald's voice repeated itself in Spruce's head, slowly cutting its way through the smoky darkness inside. Even now, Spruce could feel his breathing begin to ease. "How long?" he whispered through dried lips, and no bloody phlegm erupted from his lungs. A sharp, stabbing pain erupted near his heart, and Spruce crunched up, seeking even the minor relief that it provided.

"Long enough," Grald answered gently. He laid a heavy, hairy hand on Spruce's shoulder as the human slowly uncurled. "Can you sit up?"

Spruce nodded slowly and opened his eyes. The first dwarf brother hovered above, looking down with concern. "Can you—"

With a surprisingly gentle touch, Grald lifted Spruce's shoulders from the ground, allowing the stricken human to brace himself up on his arms. Finally, Spruce was able to take a good look around him, at the pile of rock that had nearly killed him. _It seems so…harmless_, he thought, but he knew that it might terrorize his dreams that night.

Together, the dwarf and the human stood up, and strength flowed back into Spruce's limbs as he moved; already, he was standing on his own power. Whatever he had found on Durn, it had worked; even the numerous scrapes and cuts were starting to heal over, leaving only bloody streaks in their wake. His body still ached in numerous ways, but the pains in his chest were subsiding.

In the rubble of the earthen elemental were five gold nuggets of pure gold, and weighing each one in his hands, Grald estimated the worth to be fifty gold pieces each; and in gratitude, he gave them to Spruce.

With little else to do in the deadly mine, it was time for the dwarf and his rescuer to leave; and working in unison, they picked up Durn's body. It was a slow hike back to Sandpoint, but they made it in time for the evening bells.

As a reward, the wily mayor Kendra Deverin gave Spruce 100 gold pieces, and the hero of the night retired to the Rusty Dragon Tavern and Inn for a hearty meal, where he shared his tale over many mugs of chokeberry tea.


End file.
